


Revisionist History; or, Of Ovals and Angels

by Rhi



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-21
Updated: 2009-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 11:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhi/pseuds/Rhi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor gets sick of musical events and commissions Rose in reinventing the Watergate scandal; aka 'I play happily with history, namely the excuse for the Watergate tape gap'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revisionist History; or, Of Ovals and Angels

**Author's Note:**

> _For [**llembas**](http://llembas.livejournal.com/) in the [Tenth Doctor Ficathon](http://loneraven.livejournal.com/505566.html), who wanted Rose and Ten traveling to somewhere in the US, mention of the Parting of the Ways kiss even just as a throwaway, and no Mickey. Is wicked, wicked late, for which I apologise...I've been both uninspired lately and working State Fair during my usual prime writing hours.  
> Because my degree's in American Studies, [all surroundings](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/18%C2%BD_minute_gap) are entirely true. As for the circumstances...I rather like this version of events. Charlie's Angels, by the by, didn't premiere until 1976--so take that for what you will. 1472 words._

"The TARDIS," the Doctor said, "resents being used for groupieism."

Rose Tyler gave him a look. She was getting very good at mastering the sceptical glance, which the Doctor was beginning to suspect she'd picked up from endless X-Files reruns on Sky. "That is _not_ a word," she said. "In any dictionary, before you say it's a word on Zagulus Nine."

"It is. Led to the great Gerund Cult Disaster of '49. Don't be pedantic, Rose, it's unbecoming. You know perfectly well what I mean. We're not doing this as a pleasure jaunt, last Ziggy Stardust appearance or no."

"You know you like Aladdin Sane, you wore that makeup when we went to..."

"Do not," the Doctor retorted, interrupting. He didn't appreciate Rose's wheedling tone. "There're better things to do in 1973. Rather necessary things, for the good of the universe. Or something like that."

There was a snort from Rose's direction. "Whatever lets you sleep at night," she muttered.

He shot her a brief glare, then pushed a lever upwards. It wouldn't go, so he shoved it harder, eventually putting his entire weight behind it. Really, the TARDIS had a way of ruining the effect of things despite his efforts; she must have been quite touchy about him referring to her wishes without her consent. "Well, we're going. But not to the Odeon. The riots afterwards are a mess, glitter everywhere and lots of synthetic fabrics. Close enough to the Gerund Cult, to be honest."

"If not for Bowie, what makes 1973 so interesting, then?" Rose replied. She'd started to pout a little, but curtailed it when she realized it would have precisely no effect. The Doctor had That Look on his face, and his jaw was set. He glanced up from the console and grinned at her. It was the look of a predator.

"Unfinished business."

"What sort of unfinished business?" Rose asked as they landed with a rather soft thump. "In the 70s? Don't tell me. You? 'Accidentally' started the punk movement with all your anarchy talk."

The Doctor snorted and motioned for her to follow him. "Isn't it just like the English, to be so centred on their own culture?" he asked, without any apparent irony at all. "Think the colonies. America. And I don't just mean Studio 54, pop culture princess."

Trotting after him into the wardrobe room, Rose was nearly beheaded by a massive chunky wooden necklace being tossed at her head, along with a bunch of rather oddly coloured clothes. "Um. Don't know, really, but you're going to tell me?"

"Of course I am," the Doctor replied, emerging from behind a pile of clothing. He was sporting a brown pinstriped suit. A brown pinstriped polyester leisure suit. "Besides the Vietnam War, Kent State, Apocalypse Now, petrol availability problems and a lot of cocaine--great song, by the way, Clapton's different than the original but still tasty--the biggest Presidential scandal that never involved a man dropping trou."

Rose thought for a moment or two. "The one with the hands." She demonstrated two victory signs, one with each hand. "And 'I am not a crook' and all of that. Right?"

"Richard Milhous Nixon," the Doctor replied. "The Watergate Hotel. And you and I have the job of making certain this buggered up mess doesn't become far more pear-shaped than it already is."

"What do you mean, 'more pear-shaped'? It's already pretty bad, yeah?"

The Doctor looked back at her, brow furrowing. "Oh, this is much worse. Tricky Dick Nixon is actually an alien."

This statement made Rose gawk at him. "Like the Slitheen?"

"Nah," the Doctor said, offhandedly. "Benign except for his political stance, but that's part of history now. What isn't is the American public knowing about it. Which--" he tossed her a flowing white dress, "is what we're here to stop. I've been meaning to do this, but kept putting it off. I know I do it at some point, might as well be now, since you brought it up."

Rose ducked behind a clothes rack and started changing. "I didn't bring it up."

"Of course you did. '73. Hurry up, now. If the Americans find out they have an extraterrestrial in the White House, they'll lord it up for centuries, if some terrified xenophobe doesn't blow them to bits first." He wandered back behind the rack, making Rose yelp and clutch the dress to her chest. "I said move along, we still have to feather your hair."

Half an hour later, they stepped out of the TARDIS...directly into the Oval Office. The Doctor blinked. "I thought I'd aimed for one of the antechambers, actually. Ah well, another reason to hurry, the Secret Service might think she's a bomb or something."

"You're the one who insisted on doing my hair up like this."

"Well, I thought we might go out, afterwards. Have a nice dinner. Besides, if we get caught, your mug shot should be tasteful."

Rose self-consciously fluffed her hair a little. "What a lovely date. You're entirely mad," she said, wandering over to look out the curved window, through the curtains. "Now what are we looking for in particular?"

"Not a view of the Rose Garden. More some tapes…" The Doctor had already pulled out the sonic screwdriver and was zapping all of the drawers of the Presidential Desk in turn, then yanked one open with a bit of effort. "Here we go. One reverberating scandal, all in a pile of plastic and magnetic tape." He rifled through them. "Now what was the date of the Haldeman meeting...here we go."

He tossed the tape at Rose, who blinked and caught it, then left the drawer wide open. "Going to be subpoenaed soon. Now, where's that recorder?"

Rose followed him to the secretary's desk and waited, toying with the tape in her hands. It was rather large and unwieldy, in her opinion. "What are we going to do with it, take it with us?"

"Oh, no no no. That'll be noticed straightaway, not like this won't be. We…are going to record over it. Tape, please," the Doctor said, extending his hand, and after a moment of looking at it, Rose handed him the roll. He fumbled in his coat pocket for a second, and pulled out a small tape player, one more common a decade or so later.

"Now, to cue the tapes..." He grinned, and did so with a flourish. "And set. Hold that pedal down, Rose."

Rose did, just as the Doctor pressed the button on the Walkman. Someone on his tape started talking about a woman named Alice. Nothing that she recognized. "How long do I have to hold this?"

"Eighteen and a half minutes."

She squawked in protest. "And what are we going to do for eighteen and a half minutes, standing about in the bleeding White House? Besides be caught and executed for attempted assassination?"

"We could…uh…" The Doctor thought. "We could play poker? Pretend to be Martin Sheen and Allison Janney? Snog? Never snogged in the Oval Office before. White House yes, Oval Office no."

Rose turned a brilliant shade of red.

"Oh, come come now, Rose, it's not as if we haven't before…"

Looking at him, she felt some kind of memory tingle at the back of her mind, but she couldn't place it. Besides, the Doctor had kept talking. "Or you could listen to the song. Damn good song, too. Guthrie was rather inspiring, though his father was less so."

So Rose listened to the song, even though her foot was aching. "I don't get it," she said.

"Best part. They say he doesn't have to go to Vietnam 'cause he was arrested. For littering! Can you believe that?"

"I was still caught up on the snogging, actually," Rose stated.

"Oh, that," the Doctor said. "Never mind that for now." He had that look on his face that implied he'd say no more about it, probably just to irritate her. So she gave up. And eventually, though it seemed interminable, the song ended. Rose eased up off the pedal, and the Doctor clicked off the Walkman, then took the tape off the reel and closed it back up in the locked drawer.

"There. Our mission was successful," he said, brushing his hands off on the pinstriped polyester. "So, m'little Charlie's Angel, how about that dinner? Provided I haven't messed up the times again and that hairstyle's not popular yet."

"We went to all this," Rose fluffed her hair again--it had quite a nice bounce to it, even if it was hopelessly idiotic-looking, "for nothing, then?"

"Maybe you'll start a trend? Come on, the Hill awaits."

By the time President Nixon discovered the gap in the tape, they were several billion light-years away, but the Doctor swore he could hear the laughter from there.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Retrospective Note: The runtime of 'Alice's Restaurant' is 18:34, almost exactly the missing time on the Watergate tapes.
> 
> Just sayin'.


End file.
